ELARA THE WARRIOR

ELARA I push open the door to my room and pause for a moment, staring at the tattered blanket crumpled on the floor. I left it there this morning—when I rushed out before dawn to prepare breakfast for the Pack House. For the Alpha. For his family. For the leaders. For everyone but myself. I bend, pick it up, and lay it over the thin mattress. The bed creaks as I sit. My hands rise to my face, pressing hard against my temples. I’m tired. Not the kind sleep fixes. The kind that settles into your bones… and stays. Every day begins the same—before sunrise—and ends long after everyone else has fallen asleep. And tomorrow will be no different. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. So I endure. Until I come of age. Until I find a mate—if anyone would ever want someone like me. My name is Elara. Elara Hampton… or at least, that’s what they call me. I’m an Omega. No—that’s too generous. I’m nothing. At the Blue Sea Moon Pack, even the lowest-ranked Omegas need someone beneath them. That someone is me. Pain is entertainment here. And I am the show. I don’t remember my parents. I don’t remember a family. I don’t even remember where I came from. All I know is this place… and the way it slowly crushes you if you let it. My crime? I don’t have a wolf. Most girls shift by twelve. Find their mates soon after. I’m seventeen. Nothing. No wolf. No bond. No sign that anything inside me is alive at all. Still… I make myself useful. I cook. I clean. I serve. They say no one makes food like I do. My pastries, especially—they never stop talking about them. Funny how the same hands they praise… are the ones they don’t hesitate to bruise. It’s past midnight by the time I finally return to my room. The Pack House is quiet now. Everyone asleep. Everyone except— The Alpha. And his Luna… who returned not long ago, carrying the scent of another male. I let out a quiet, humorless breath. This place is rotting from the inside. My door hangs loosely on its hinges. Locking it is pointless. Anyone could push it open. Anyone does. I lower myself onto the bed, every muscle aching, and close my eyes— The door slams open. My body reacts before my mind does. I scramble into the corner, clutching the blanket tightly to my chest. Alpha Darius stumbles in, a bottle dangling from his hand, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the room. My stomach drops. I know why he’s here. He always comes when he’s angry. And he’s always angry. “You worthless piece of s**t!” he slurs, his voice thick with rage. I shrink back, pressing myself against the wall. “I’ll kill you tonight!” I didn’t do anything. I never do. “Sir—” The bottle flies from his hand. I duck. It crashes against the wall behind me, shattering into jagged shards that scatter across the floor. Too late. He’s already on me. His hand catches my arm, yanking me forward before slamming me down. My back hits the floor— Glass. The shards tear into my skin instantly. A broken scream rips from my throat. Pain explodes across my body, sharp and merciless, but it doesn’t stop him. It never does. His fist comes down. Once. Twice. My vision blurs. Then he flips me over. The glass digs deeper. I scream. I can’t stop screaming. His hand clamps around my throat. Everything narrows. I claw at his wrist, my fingers weak, useless. He doesn’t even flinch. “I should’ve gotten rid of you long ago,” he growls, his grip tightening. “You’re nothing but bad luck—” Air. I need air. Dark spots fill my vision. My lungs burn. My body goes limp, but his grip doesn’t loosen. It tightens. Tighter. “T-this Pack…” he continues, his voice distant now, echoing. “You’ve cursed it—” The world tilts. Fades. The last thing I feel is the crushing pressure around my throat— And then— Nothing. ***** A sharp sting spreads through my body the moment I open my eyes. I flinch. Everything hurts—my ribs, my arms, even my head feels too heavy to hold up. For a second, I don’t move. I just lie there, breathing slowly, waiting for the pain to settle into something bearable. Then I notice it. White. The walls are white. The ceiling is white. Even the bed beneath me is white. I frown slightly. “Where the hell am I?” I whisper, my voice dry and unfamiliar. This place… it’s quiet. Too quiet. No shouting. No footsteps. No doors slamming. Just silence—soft and almost comforting. A small smile tugs at my lips. Did I finally die? Yeah… this must be it. Heaven. The thought settles in my mind, warm and strange. My chest loosens for what feels like the first time in forever. No pain. No fear. No alpha. Just peace. I let out a quiet breath, staring at the ceiling. He must be losing his mind right now. No punching bag. No one to take his anger out on. Poor alpha… however will he cope? The thought makes me almost laugh. “Good afternoon, Elara. How are you feeling today?” My smile disappears. I turn my head slowly, wincing at the effort. A man stands beside my bed, dressed in plain clothes, a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He looks… normal. Too normal. Wait. Do angels look like that? “I’m glad you’re finally awake,” he adds when I don’t respond. I blink at him, confusion creeping in. “Are you an angel?” I blurt out. For a second, he just stares at me—then lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “I’m the Pack Doctor,” he says. “And you’ve been unconscious for days.” The words hit me like a slap. My stomach drops. “What?” I push myself up slightly, only to gasp as pain shoots through my body. “I’m in a hospital?” Reality crashes down hard, suffocating. “f**k,” I hiss, clenching my teeth as I sink back against the bed. “I thought I was dead… I thought I was finally in paradise.” The disappointment burns sharper than the pain. Still alive. Still stuck here. “Who did this to you, Elara?” His voice is quieter now, but firm. I turn my head away, staring at the blank wall. “Who did what?” I ask, keeping my tone flat. “Don’t do that,” he says. “Your body is covered in bruises—old and new. Scars, too. Someone hurt you. Badly.” My fingers curl slightly against the sheets. I shrug. “I’m fine, doctor. I don’t remember anything.” A lie. A weak one. But it’s all I have. The room falls silent for a moment. I can feel his eyes on me, searching, waiting. Then he sighs. “If that’s what you want to say,” he murmurs. I hear him move around, checking machines, jotting something down. After a moment, he nods to himself. “You’re stable,” he says. “Try to rest.” And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him. Silence returns. I stare at the ceiling again, the earlier calm now completely gone. My chest feels tight. Heavy. I let out a slow, shaky breath. I was so sure. So sure it was over. My eyes sting, but no tears come. They never do anymore. “…I should have died,” I whisper. Because what’s waiting for me out there… is far worse!